


Wizard's Weapon

by GatewayGirl



Series: The Finder Series [4]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: D/s, M/M, Smoking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-13
Updated: 2010-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatewayGirl/pseuds/GatewayGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore does something to Harry's scar, but no one is sure of the effects. When Severus has a theory, Harry's willing to risk everything to fulfill his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: D/s, teacher/student (7th-year), smoking, and climbing without a belayer. Oh, and plot-related violence, including deaths.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, [](http:)sociofemme whose advice improved the end of this story, to [jiapa](http://jiapa.livejournal.com/), for advice on the wound, and to [atropos_lee](http://atropos_lee.livejournal.com/), for Britpicking.
> 
> Canon-Compliancy: OotP

"Twice a week?" Ron said, horrified.

Harry shrugged. "It wasn't so bad over the holiday. Snape's actually working at _teaching _me, now that he's decided I'm an ally."

"I think that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. She sent a little warning frown at Ron, and then returned to smiling at Harry. "I'm proud of both of you. Mrs. Weasley is too, despite...." A tiny shrug filled in the mess with Bill. "Did you reply to Bill? I know you don't like writing letters, but he's going to worry ...."

  


With that conversational taboo gone, and most of Harry's absences explicable, January passed almost peacefully. The three of them fell back into something that closely resembled their previous three-armed friendship, and worked nearly as well. That Ron and Hermione had settled into a different sort of relationship bothered Harry less than he might have expected. He sometimes thought it would be perfect if he could tell them that he had a lover, too, but then the matter of whom, and what sort of things they did, would intrude. Somehow he couldn't imagine Severus joining them at anything without completely destroying their balance. Ron would never socialize with Severus, and Severus, Harry admitted, didn't seem to know how to socialize. If he ever relaxed, a few seconds of his play with Harry would have Hermione up in arms.

No, Harry decided, as he looked across the library table at the top of Hermione's bent head and caught Ron's hand stroking her arm. Even if Severus wouldn't be fired, and even if he had been willing to tell Ron about his less than conventional sexuality, he still would keep it secret while they were so frequently together. After leaving school, he could tell them, but it still shouldn't be something they ever saw.

While he was still feeling uneasy about this plan, Professor McGonagall swept up to them.

"There you are, Mr. Potter. The headmaster wishes to speak to you."

  


Dumbledore had seemed like an enduring constant when Harry was younger. Now, the aging that Harry had first noticed two years ago was accelerating. Every time Harry saw him, he looked more frail and more tired. Where once he would have bounced up to greet Harry, he now remained seated, only straightening his bowed shoulders and belatedly summoning animation into his worn features.

"Harry. Thank you for coming promptly."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing. I've merely come across a new source on curse scars, with elements that may be relevant to your case, and wished to ask you a few questions."

For the next few minutes, that was what he did. Did the scar ever feel stiffer at some times than at others? Did Harry ever have unexplained muscle aches? Did he like custard? Marmite? Dumbledore handed him two lengths of fur and asked how he felt stroking each, and Harry, sure he intended Legilimency, increased his occlusion, holding the feeling of the fur blandly in the front of his mind. The one he liked better turned out to be rabbit, and the other ermine, but he wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, other than that he had pedestrian tastes.

"How are the lessons with Professor Snape progressing?"

From the keen interest in Dumbledore's eyes, Harry was certain the question was not social or irrelevant. The old wizard had probably detected his occlusion.

"Quite well, sir. I'm making progress in my defenses again indirect combat hexes, and my occlusion has become quite good."

"But you don't need to use that with me, do you Harry?"

Harry stared back at him for a moment, showing that he was not afraid to meet Dumbledore's gaze, but his voice was mild when he answered. "If you feel the need to ask, sir, then yes, I do."

"I would hope you wouldn't have secrets from me, Harry."

"Of course I have secrets!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm seventeen. Do you think I want you to know what I get up to?"

As he had hoped, that lightened the matter, but again, Harry doubted it was coincidence that he was asked to touch Fawkes and repeat the oath he had made to the Order.

"Very good, Harry." Dumbledore seemed reassured, or that was what Harry gathered from the newly bright tone of his voice, but when he turned, Dumbledore, who seldom wielded a wand, was holding one mere inches from his face.

"Sir?"

The wand tip touched his scar. The sensation was of a tight pinch. Harry saw the old wizard's lips move, but could not make out the incantation.

"Sir?" he repeated, alarmed, but Dumbledore was stumbling back and sinking into his chair.

"Now, now, Harry," he said, holding up his hand to forestall questions. "You have your secrets, and I have mine. What I just did may not protect you, but it will do you no harm. I'm afraid I cannot explain beyond that, just at this moment. We will speak before the next meeting of the Order. Now I believe Professor McGonagall --"

As if she had been waiting outside the door for her cue, McGonagall suddenly entered, and Harry found himself being cheerily bustled out of the room.

  


Dumbledore wasn't at breakfast the next day. A few people asked Harry about it, but he knew no more than any of them. It was irritating to have so many people assume he was in Dumbledore's confidence, when he was so keenly aware that he was anything but. He spent the morning in sullen gloom, moving from lesson to lesson with his head down, speaking to no one. Hermione always seemed to be at his elbow, just in case, he supposed, that he wanted to open up. On his way to Transfiguration, he took an unusual, longer path, in hopes of avoiding her for a few extra minutes.

Just before the corner, a sweep of cloth brushed across the side of his leg, and he stopped barely in time to avoid colliding with Severus, who had cut into his path.

"Going somewhere, Potter?"

Harry summoned a glare from memory, although he actually felt cheerful for the first time that day.

"My Transfiguration lesson, _sir."_

"What an interesting route you have chosen," Professor Snape sneered. He leaned close. "Be waiting in my room after lessons -- naked, in bed, with cuffs on."

"A bit hungry?"

"Yes."

Harry looked up and down the empty corridor.

_"No, _Potter. Get to your lesson before I take points."

With a genuine laugh, Harry headed off to Transfiguration.

  


**********

  


Severus sat up in the bed, his back against the headboard, and drank in the sight of his young lover. Harry was draped back in the bed, in a boneless, post-orgasmic sprawl. He cracked his eyes open, the right slightly more than the left, as if more was too much to contemplate.

"Mmm. Will you still be interested in me when I'm not one of your students?"

His eyes closed again, fortunately. Severus did not think Harry saw his momentary surprise. He hadn't expected what he thought of Harry _then _to be relevant. In fact, he was fairly sure it would not be.

"Does it matter? You won't be here."

Harry's eyes did open fully at that. "But we'll see each other, won't we?" He sounded almost anxious. "I mean, what about the business? And if I kill Voldemort, you can visit."

"If you kill Voldemort, I will be glad to have any sort of affair that you wish." Severus could feel himself grinding his teeth. He forced that to stop. "However, I expect you will find yourself inundated with admirers. _Some_ are sure to be more suitable."

Harry smiled at that, but shrugged. "I don't know. I suspect I'm a bit messed up. Maybe they'll all be too normal for me."

"And I am sufficiently odd."

Harry grinned at him insouciantly. "You know you are. Wherever would I find another such agreeable old pervert?"

"You might be surprised," Severus returned dryly.

"Oh, all right. Probably that would be easy enough." Harry continued to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, anymore. "Not one I respect though."

"I..." Severus had not been expecting that turn. _Thank you_ stuck in his throat, so he merely nodded while he collected himself. "A point." Tired of sitting, he stretched out on the bed beside Harry, who obligingly turned onto his side to face him.

"So, how much does it matter that I'm your student?"

"This is not a habit of mine."

"I understand. But is it what you want? I mean, we do it in your office, in the classroom...."

"We have fetishized to some extent, have we not? But I'm sure we could find other sports."

"Good." Harry, apparently satisfied with that, rolled onto his back again. For a moment, they were both quiet. Severus was just telling himself that he must not sleep for longer than thirty minutes, when Harry came back up on his side.

"Could you ... Does my scar look different?"

Nothing good could trigger such a question. Severus sat again, pulling Harry up also, and raised the lights. His scar didn't, at all. "No. It's not even especially red. Are you feeling Him?"

"No, nothing." Harry scowled. "Dumbledore _did _something to it last night, and wouldn't explain what."

"Tell me everything."

  


At the end of the story, Severus scowled. "The old fool is too fond of his secrets. He should have learned better with you."

"One would expect. Unless the point is to have me worry about it, so Voldemort sees."

"He did this after complimenting you on your Occlumency, however."

"I'm not sure complimenting is the right word. Observing. Objecting, almost."

"You think that he wanted something out of your head that he was unwilling to ask for?"

Harry snorted. "He more or less admitted it."

Severus hesitated, wondering how much to say to Harry. He stood up, reaching for the worn dressing gown that lay across the foot of the bed. "Let's discuss this in the sitting room; I left my cigarettes there anyway, and falling asleep would be risky."

  


Snape customarily sat in the armchair, but he was not yet ready to stop touching Harry. It wasn't a desire to cuddle, he told himself, just that the correct point of satiation had not yet been reached. He sat on the couch and patted his thigh. "Lie down."

Harry flopped onto the couch and settled his head on Severus's lap with an unnecessary amount of rubbing his cheek against Severus's crotch, and then smiled innocently up at him. "Like this, sir?"

"With, perhaps, a bit more support of the possibility of _strategizing_."

"Can I really get you hard again so soon?"

"Penile erection is not a necessary component of being sexually distracted," Severus observed dryly. He lit a cigarette and passed it to Harry. "Here. If you must have something in your mouth between words."

Harry laughed, pleased, and blew smoke up at him while he lit another. "See? Where would I find someone else who could say that with a straight face?"

"That you have an oral fixation?"

"No, the 'penile erection' bit." Harry sniggered.

"Oh, dear god. Do try _not _to act your age -- I'm accustomed to you seeming rather older, when you're not gagged."

Then, of course, he had to wait for Harry's hilarity to subside, the delay made tolerable by how entertaining Harry seemed to find him. Very few people appreciated -- or, in fact, noticed -- the humor of such comments. Although that was sufficient reason why Harry was an enjoyable toy, it was also, he decided, part of why he was a valuable ally. While they had been settling in, he had decided that there was nothing that he would tell anyone that he would not tell Harry, and a significant category of non-sexual things that he would tell Harry, but no one else. Harry had become, somehow, his closest comrade. Severus smirked slightly as he looked down at the boy, whose breaths were now growing more even. If one had to have a single trustworthy ally in the war, one could scarcely do better than Harry Potter, with his power rising and his reflexes at their peak. He could not take on Voldemort yet, but outside of Hogwarts, he was becoming a close second to the declining Albus Dumbledore.

The thought reminded him why they had come out here.

"Allow me to summarize," he said, pausing to blow tendrils of smoke out over the candles, and to flick his wand at the fire, compelling it to rise. "Dumbledore asked you a bizarre series of questions, noted your Occlusion, did something to your scar, and then made you repeat your oath to the Order of the Phoenix.

"Mm, no. Not quite." Harry sucked on the cigarette and then tossed his head, again rubbing against interested portions of Severus's anatomy, but this time seemingly without intent. "No, Dumbledore asked me a bizarre series of questions, noted my Occlusion, and then made me repeat my oath to the Order of the Phoenix. _After _that, he did something to my scar."

"Ah. So it was important that he be sure of your loyalties first."

"Apparently." Harry grimaced. "As if they could be in question."

"If the Dark Lord entrenched himself deeply enough, they might be."

"He doesn't have control of me."

"I know." Severus smirked. "But you do not always occlude when with me." He stroked Harry's fringe from his forehead. The scar looked like it usually did, when his own Mark was not burning. "How did it feel?"

"Like a pinch."

"Might you be more specific?"

"Like -- like someone pinching my nipples." Harry scowled at Severus's smirk. "Not ... not that it was arousing, quite. But _sensitive._"

"Ah." Severus managed to keep a straight face as he slipped a hand up inside Harry's gaping dressing gown. "Like this?" He pinched one nipple between the pads or forefinger and thumb. "Or like this?" Rolling his fingers slightly, he put the slightest bit of nail into the pinch. Harry arched, the movement parting his dressing gown further and revealing that it had been long enough for the recuperative powers of a seventeen year old.

"Ah! Like that, but not _good._ Please...."

"In a moment." Severus backed off to a lighter, more teasing, pressure. "My conjecture," he said, "is that Dumbledore overextended himself. You noticed that he wasn't at lunch, today?"

"Or breakfast." Harry rubbed his face against Severus, again deliberately. His breath was warm.

"The staff was told he was too ill." Severus was annoyed at how his voice tightened. "Can you not focus on strategy?"

"Not until you fuck me again. Or whatever. Depending on what you're up to."

"If you continue with that_ rubbing, _what I'm up to will be the least of your worries."

  


**********

  


When Harry returned to Gryffindor tower, Ron immediately spotted him. With Hermione, he hurried over, and they seized his arms and pulled him into a window alcove.

"Where _were _you?"

"Just walking. I lost track of time."

"You _missed dinner." _

"I'm aware of that, Ron, okay? I picked something up from the kitchen. It seemed better than walking in after everyone else was sitting down."

"Harry, really," Hermione said, managing to capture an almost professorial level of _I'm terribly disappointed in you._ "We were supposed to be studying for the Charms NEWT from three-thirty to five, and the Transfiguration NEWT from five until six...."

Behind her, Ron made a face, and Harry knew he would stop pushing.

"I don't think I need that much revi--"

"But you _do!" _Hermione got that frantic look that frequently came over her, these days. "Are you pre-applying anywhere? I've applied to the Ministry, for the Committee for Experimental Charms and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and if they accept me, it will be conditional, and if I don't have a Charms EE--"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "You'll have an O."

"What about you? Have you thought about a job?"

"It's barely March."

"That's _late, _Harry! Hufflepuff had an application tutorial in January, and started sending out applications a month ago!"

"Well, yeah, they'd have to, wouldn't they?" Ron said easily. "Give it a rest, Hermione. Harry can take a walk if he wants to."

On the way to the library, he leaned close. "Might join you next time, mate."

  


What with Hermione's fretting and Ron's unspoken worry, Harry knew he should not attempt to even speak to Severus again before his Thursday evening combat lesson. Although that had been their plan in January, the limited schedule had come to be supplemented by glances and comments that conveyed private meaning beneath a veneer of normality. Now he was taking more care. By dinner on Thursday, he found himself waiting anxiously for contact.

The moment after the puddings appeared, his scar twinged. Could it could be some delayed side-effect from what Dumbledore had done to him? Harry looked up at the head table, desperate to see that nothing was happening, but that thin hope was immediately dashed -- Severus was already rising from his seat. He wasn't holding his arm stiffly, and the summons felt mild. Harry pushed down the temptation to seek along his link to Voldemort; it was too dangerous, not for him, but for Severus.

"Brilliant," Ron said, with evident satisfaction.

"What?"

"You're out of this evening's lesson. We can work on that Charms project."

Harry scowled. "I'd rather have the lesson."

"With Snape?" Ron asked incredulously. "Harry -- you can't mean it!"

"What? He's a damn good fighter, and he's actually interested in teaching me, for once."

"Bet he's still horrible."

There was no way to answer this, so Harry looked down at his tart, instead. After a moment, he pushed it at Ron. "I can't eat this."

A soft gasp made him look up. Hermione was staring at the head table. Following her gaze, Harry saw that Dumbledore had also come to his feet, but he was less than steady. Professor McGonagall rose and offered him her arm, and they left the hall together.

"What's that about, Harry?" Seamus asked, past Ginny.

"I don't know! I told you, he doesn't tell me anything."

"But everyone knows you're his favorite."

"I am _not."_

Lavender tossed her hair. "Really, Seamus. That was_ last _year."

Ron leaned close. "You've gone out of fashion," he whispered.

It should have been funny, but it wasn't. Harry made his excuses and ducked out of the great hall. A few other people were leaving, so he wasn't entirely alone, but he didn't look back. If Ron or Hermione was following him, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

He paused in the dormitory only long enough to get his cigarettes out of his trunk, and he left by the window. As he paused to cast a charm up the side of the tower, he saw the door open, but he didn't wait to see who had entered.

  


Harry was feeling more relaxed -- or at least, less anxious -- by the time Ron appeared over the roofline. He quickly spotted Harry and shot over, hovering with his feet an inch off the rooftop. Harry kept his hand down on the old slates, though he knew this didn't make the cigarette he was holding much less obvious.

"You could fall off, you know," Ron said angrily. "You shouldn't be up here alone."

"I use an Anchoring charm." Harry smirked at him. "You're turning into a real prefect, aren't you?"

Ron ignored him, though even in the moonlight, Harry could see his cheeks darkening. "Never heard of it."

"Snape taught it to me." At Ron's puzzled expression, Harry shrugged. "Good for collecting things that grow on cliffs."

"I thought he was teaching you combat!"

"Ron. He's used it for spying. And escaping. Not everything he's teaching me is about attack. Some of it is about getting away afterwards."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to accept the sense of this. "So those vines you used to get up here from the window...?"

"Scaling charm, yeah." Harry gave up waiting and took a drag on the cigarette, then exhaled a trail of smoke. "Look, either fly back or land. If you land and hold on to that spire-thing for a moment, I'll cast an anchoring charm for you."

"And my broom, yeah?"

"Of course your broom! Think I want my Keeper on some school broom?"

With a grateful smile, Ron landed. The slates were smooth, and there was a certain amount of scrabbling as he belatedly caught at the decorative finial, but then Harry cast the anchoring charm, and he sat, letting out a long breath. After he was settled, he looked sidelong at Harry and laughed. "You're mad, you know. Come up here just to smoke?"

"And be alone," Harry retorted, but then he shrugged. "Since you're here, though...."

"I didn't even bring a schoolbook."

"I noticed."

"Mum would box your ears if she saw you doing that, you know, seventeen or not." Ron hesitated. "That can't be what you disappear for -- not all that time."

It took Harry a moment to figure out what Ron meant. "No," he said, agreeing. "If I smoked that much I wouldn't be able to make it through lessons."

"Sometimes you look like you can't," Ron observed, but he didn't argue. Apparently comfortable with the Anchoring charm now, he lay back on the slate tiles, but gave the stars only a cursory glance before his attention returned to Harry.

"So, Harry...." He took an audible breath. "You have a girlfriend, yeah?"

Harry tensed. "No."

"Come _on, _Harry! What else could take up so much time?"

"I don't." Harry glared at Ron. "I mean it, Ron. I do not have a girlfriend."

"What, just a girl you play with? Or two?"

"No. Ron, drop it. That's _not _why I go away sometimes."

"Then why?"

"You know how I said I came up here to be alone?" Harry retorted. "I didn't mean just to get away from study plans."

Ron sighed and sat up again. He looked out over the darkness. Only the lake reflected enough moonlight to be visible in the night.

"Are we ever going to be like we were?"

Harry shrugged. It seemed unlikely, but he didn't know how to say that without it sounding like a rejection, and that wouldn't be what he meant.

"Well?"

"I don't _know._" He sighed. "Probably not, but it's not your fault. We're just older, you know?" He gave Ron a forced smile. "We'll still be friends." _Maybe. If you don't hate me once you find out what I've got instead of a girlfriend._

"Hey." Ron twisted towards him. "You know, I've been thinking. We should get a place together. After school."

"No!" The word came out quickly, projected out by panic.

"Why not? Look, I know we fight sometimes, but--"

"It's not that!" Harry flailed for an explanation that would make sense. "Look, I want to live alone, okay? I never have."

"I'm not sure--"

Ron's objection stopped in mid-breath as a change in the sky captured his attention and Harry's at once. Together, they twisted to look. In the distance, they could make out the flickering green stain of the Dark Mark.

"That's Hogsmeade."

Ron nodded dumbly and reached for his broom.

"Take me?"

"We need to tell Dumbledore."

Harry didn't want to. He wanted to head straight towards the heart of the trouble and see who was still there to be fought or saved. Ron was right, though. It was more important to alert the Order.

  


They made it in the window and down the stairs and out the portrait hole, but on the stairway, a broom came speeding up towards them. Harry had just identified McGonagall, sitting in an incongruously proper straight-backed sidesaddle, when she stopped in a vibrating hover beside them.

"Professor! Hogsmeade--"

"Attacked. I know. Back to Gryffindor, now, boys! Quickly!" She flew on more slowly, so they could follow.

Harry and Ron ran back up the stairs, catching up in time to hear Professor McGonagall tell the Fat Lady that no one but herself was to leave until she gave the word. The Gryffindors were called down to be counted and the prefects to be given instructions, and then McGonagall departed. Harry considered leaving by the window, but when he poked his head out, Nearly-Headless Nick shooed him back inside.

The night was spent in strained whispers and very little sleep. Ron left early in the night, but Neville and Seamus continued to keep Harry awake. The windows were squares of light by the time sleep overtook him.

  


When Harry awoke, he was still exhausted, but he felt a need to get up, as if continuing to sleep would make the world more dangerous. Ron's bed, when he looked, was empty. He dragged himself out from under the covers and discovered he was still in half of his clothes. After he changed them, he pulled on yesterday's robe, which had not been taken by the house elves overnight, and then headed down to the common room.

When he got there, it was clear where Ron had spent the night. He was fast asleep on one of the couches, with Hermione sitting across from him on another one. Harry didn't think they'd had any fun together; a first year was sleeping on the couch by Hermione, his head in her lap, and a third year was curled up over the arm on the other side. Harry recognized the two as siblings, and from Hogsmeade.

Hermione raised her finger to her lips in warning. While Harry stood quietly, she levitated over a cushion and with slow caution slid out from under the child's blond curls and moved the substitute pillow into her place. He squirmed, but settled, and she walked across the room to the portrait hole, which swung open.

"Guess we're not confined anymore," Harry remarked, once it had closed behind them.

"No, dearie," the Fat Lady murmured. "Over an hour ago. Oh, I wish I could sleep! My nerves!"

"Do try," Hermione said kindly. The Fat Lady did look exhausted, her eyes swollen and dark underneath.

Harry nodded. "We may need you alert later." He realized this was a mistake when the Fat Lady let out a little cry and Hermione swatted him. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't get much sleep myself."

They walked down to breakfast, or at least Harry supposed it was time for breakfast. The sky outside was overcast -- the sort of all-over cover that can presage rain in a minute or in a day -- and it could have been later or earlier than he thought. The half-light added to the unreal quality of the two of them walking down the wide stairway alone.

"Should we have woken Ron?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was getting light outside when he finally got to sleep." She looked as if she hadn't slept at all, herself. "It's strange, how the corridors are so quiet."

"Yeah. I feel like I'm dreaming." It wasn't a good dream, either. He shifted closer to Hermione.

Entering the Great Hall did not make him feel any better. The scattered other students at the house tables looked as pale and rumpled as Hermione, and the few staff members up at the high table were all wearing black robes, even Professor Sprout. Dumbledore's throne-like seat was empty. Harry sent an anxious look at Severus, but the man did not appear to notice him. Harry sat beside Hermione and stared at his plate. As if she had been waiting for him, McGonagall got to her feet.

"I apologize to those of you who will hear this more than once, but it seems impractical to wait for a more formal meal. I must sadly inform you that Professor Dumbledore died last night. We will miss him...." Her voice caught, and though she seemed to have intended to say more, she sat. Professor Sprout put an arm around her shoulders.

The announcement with met with fewer words than noises. Harry realized that one strained keening sound was coming from himself, and tried to choke it back. At least Hermione didn't seem to have heard. She was wide-eyed and whispering "no" repeatedly. At a flurry of sound from above, Harry realized that McGonagall had not been waiting for him; she had timed the announcement to beat the arrival of the morning post, with all its newspapers.

He hadn't touched the food, but he knew he wasn't going to. He stumbled to his feet and left the hall, alone.

  


The door opened behind him. Harry ignored it, continuing to stare at tendrils of grey smoke vanishing into a grey sky.

"New vice?"

Hermione's voice was kind. Her hands settled on his arm, holding on gently and possessively. Harry laughed harshly.

"No. I just can't be arsed to be discreet, right now."

"Oh."

Harry expected her to yell, but she just leaned her head against his shoulder. That was bad, he thought. He turned to take her in his arms and she collapsed against him. She shuddered, but silently. There were no tears.

"He hadn't been well." Harry dropped the cigarette and stepped on it, freeing his hand to stroke her hair. "You know he hadn't." _Not since he did whatever it was to my scar._

"But ... but dead? You've seen him fight You-Know-Who! And he was killed by Death Eaters?" She sagged, resting her head back against his shoulder. "And they killed two families to call him out. Right in Hogsmeade."

"Anyone...?" Harry wished he knew the names of the kids who had been on the couch with her.

"It seemed completely random. Purebloods -- one couple and one old man. The building right next to the Hogshead, so they weren't even influential."

She stepped away, wiping at her eyes, which were finally catching up with her anguish, and pulling the _Daily Prophet_ from her schoolbag. She handed it to him, and he sat on the damp stone steps to unfold it.
    
    
    **
    
    Dumbledore Dead!
    
    **
    

changed to
    
    
    **
    Attack on Hogsmeade kills 6
    **
    

and back again. He lit another cigarette and began to force himself to search for the facts behind the hyperbole.

"Harry?" Hermione asked. She picked up the half-empty pack and grimaced at it. "Is this part of why you disappear?"

Harry shrugged. "Some." _Who were the other two people killed?_

"I don't believe it's all practice, you know. If you were doing that much combat magic, you'd want a partner, some of the time."

"Could you just let it go?" Annoyed, he brought the paper down on his leg, sharply enough to crackle.

She made a face, ending it with a weak smile. "I worry about you having other vices."

Upset as he was, Harry still couldn't keep his mouth from quirking at that. He was sure she didn't want to know. "Look -- I really can't tell you. Sorry."

"That's the _problem,"_ she said, twisting her hands in the straps of her bag. "I can't think of anything you couldn't tell me that wouldn't be you being _stupid."_

"It's not-- It's--" He stopped to breathe and to think. No one was near. The thick oak door to the entrance hall was fully shut behind them. "Look, it's a person, okay. I have a ... a lover. And no one can know."

She stared at him. "So you lied to Ron?"

"What?"

"That was our first guess. We've been talking about it since Christmas. Last night, Ron said he'd asked if you had a lover, and you swore you didn't."

Harry laughed slightly, little huffs of still-smoky air. "That wasn't what he asked."

"Oh really?" She had her arms crossed over her chest, now, and was looking fiercely angry. "He told me that he'd asked you straight out--"

"If I had a _girlfriend. _I don't."

She frowned. "Or a-- Oh!" Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "It's a boyfriend, then?"

"Something like that, yeah, but don't--"

"And since when are you that precise? I can't believe you didn't tell him that, rather than denying it and making us both worry!"

"Don't tell him. Don't you _dare."_

"What?" The incredulity on her face was mirrored in her voice. "Harry! You can't-- Why not?"

"I'm not going to tell him that." Harry huffed in a pale imitation of a laugh. "Hermione, I share a bedroom with him! I'm bloody well not going to tell him that I like men as well as girls." She was silent, and he bit his lip. "Better, maybe."

"You can't think he'd care!"

"Of course he'd care!" Harry realized that he was shouting and exhaled quickly. "Hermione, trust me. It's a boy thing, okay? He'd care."

"And this is why you won't share a place with him," she said sharply. "But you won't tell him."

"Right." The sharpness in his voice said the verdict was not debatable.

"Harry. He thinks you're dropping him."

"It's not the only reason I can't share with him, okay? And I'll visit lots and try to reassure him. But please don't tell. I _trusted _you."

"But you should trust _him,"_ Hermione insisted.

"Boy thing," Harry repeated, and she rolled her eyes.

"You can't never tell him. Not and stay friends."

"Once I'm not in a room with him," Harry promised. "After we leave school. I'll have both of you over, and I'll tell him, all right?"

She let out a little annoyed huff. "You have two weeks after we leave school, Harry. Two weeks."

"Agreed."

He held out his hand. She still looked annoyed as she shook it.

It occurred to him that he'd gone two minutes without thinking about Professor Dumbledore.


	2. Pain

The professors and other staff were in meetings all that day, and Hermione was watching Harry as if he were likely to sneak out and go after Voldemort unaided. There was no subtle way for Harry to manage to see Severus. The next day, with lessons cancelled and strangers coming in and out of the school, was not much better, and the day after that was the funeral, and Harry thought it would seem wrong, somehow, to spend the evening in sex and taunting and plots, no matter how desperately he wanted an escape.

The day after that, however, was a Sunday, and Harry decided he could risk an unscheduled visit, if Severus was in his office. With his invisibility cloak pulled over himself and a book, he sat in the hallway and did his Charms reading. It felt like studying under his covers at the Dursleys' house.

He had waited two hours and was ready to give it up when Severus finally came striding down the hallway, his robes fluttering behind him. Harry closed his book and slipped through the door on his heels. He had been planning to risk closing it, but that wasn't necessary; Severus closed it himself. Harry had only to duck out of way and wait for the bolt to click home. Severus settled behind his desk, but didn't pull out any work. Hands gripping the edge at either side, he remained staring at the blank surface while Harry stepped closer.

"Sir?" he whispered.

The man's head came up and his knuckles whitened, but he did not move. "Show yourself, Potter!"

Harry smirked as he pushed back his hood. "Of course. How much of me would you like to see?"

Severus's face tightened, and his lip curled up in a sneer. "All of you, brat." Belatedly, he fired off privacy spells at the door, and then settled back from the desk, elbows rested on the arms of his chair and fingers interweaving. "Take off everything and get on the desk. _Now._"

While Harry complied, stripping quickly and efficiently, Severus watched, motionless. Harry felt a familiar stir of uncertainty as he pulled himself onto the desk and twisted to look back at him.

"Sitting, or...."

"Sitting, yes. _Face _me. I want you lounged back and playing with your prick, advertising how available you are."

Feeling very much on display, Harry did as he was told, leaning back on one hand, and using the other to stroke his slowly engorging cock.

"Yes." Severus pulled his chair closer. "Want it, don't you Potter? Anything I'll give you." His hands reached out and up, and traced down Harry's sides.

"Yeah," Harry responded eagerly. "Been wishing I could get to you. Like how you fuck me."

Hands clenched, nails digging into Harry's hips, as Severus lunged forward. With no preliminaries, he descended on Harry's cock, taking it deep into his mouth.

"Se-- _God. _Please, sir. _Anything."_

Severus seemed to want it as badly as he did. After his first desperate attack, he fell back to a lush exploration of Harry's cock that reminded Harry of their first time. So caught up was he in his own pleasure that Harry didn't consciously notice the slow touch along his crack until Severus was pushing inside with his thumb.

"Oh. Yeah." Harry tried to catch his breath. "More. Don't wait."

Obligingly, Severus replaced the thumb with two fingers. He still kept the push shallow, so the pleasure of it came from the fullness, not any brush inside.

Harry felt his response building, and still Severus continued to work him with mouth and fingers, not even undoing his own trousers. Harry couldn't figure it out, and after a while, he stopped trying. He was being brought to his peak expertly and relentlessly, and what more was there? He was just starting the desperate breaths of _nearly there _when things changed. Severus reared up, leaving Harry's wet cock to slap in against his abdomen, and closed something tight around its base, confining his bollocks as well.

"Oi!"

"You didn't think I'd let you come without pleasing me, did you, boy? That's not what boys are for."

"God." Harry's head fell back in frustration. He was so close. He ached with wanting to let go, and the _thing _was keeping him right here. "Want to please you, but-- Please. I need more. So...." Words failed him.

Severus stood. Deliberately, he undid his trousers, his hands moving precisely, so that he never as much as brushed his own cock. Nonetheless, it sprang forth as soon as the fabric had parted, the head thick and red. A drop of moisture hung suspended at the tip.

"Oh, you'll get more. Move forward, now -- right to the edge."

Harry did, canting his hips to present his hole forward, but Severus still would not take him. "Guide me in."  

Clumsy from lust, Harry had to twist and reach, and Severus didn't help at all. Finally, Harry used his legs to catch at the man's waist and pull him close while he used his hands to press on his cock, keeping it in position. He clung and pushed, mewling in pleasure as the intractable thing finally went _in._

Severus let out a brief gasp. "Oh, that's it. Got what you wanted, did you?"

"No," Harry snarled, just as Severus at last consented to push.

"Want more?"

"Want to come."

"When _I _want you to."

Harry hissed, but then managed a "yes, sir." Everything was starting to fade, everything but the need in his body, his swollen cock and bollocks straining against tight leather, the fullness and sparks as Severus thrust into him again and again.

"So good," Severus murmured. "You -- so good." Harry perceived the praise as sort of a fever dream, his mouth opening wider to let out sounds that had long since lost all meaning.

He was shocked half into awareness by Severus freezing at the depth of a thrust, grabbing his hips again and pulling him even tighter. "_Solve_."

The contraption fell open, and Severus descended on his mouth as he had on his cock, and Harry screamed his release into the relentless kiss.

  


Severus clung to him, his harsh breaths growing slower. Finally, with one last, shaky exhalation, he released his tight grip, though he left his hands resting on Harry's shoulders.

"How are you holding up?"

Harry leaned forward to rest against him. It was a risk, he knew, and Severus stiffened, but only momentarily. His hands moved to Harry's back in tentative comfort.

"I'm not sure. He was kind to me."

"You were useful." Severus spoke harshly, and Harry had to work at breathing.

"Yes, but it's possible he would have been kinder if I wasn't." Harry straightened, and they parted a few inches, leaving newly exposed patches of damp skin cooling in the dungeon chill. "He could have been, certainly--"

"But would he have bothered? You wouldn't have been special."

"He knew my parents. They were in the Order."

"So were Neville Longbottom's, but I have not-- _did _not see Dumbledore inviting him to tea." Severus sighed. "I'm not saying this against him, Harry. He was a kind man, when he had the time and opportunity. He was, however, a _leader, _with many children and adults to concern himself with, and while the subsequent liking may have been genuine, the attention you received from him was based on tactical considerations. You should not feel obliged to grieve -- not more than any other student."

Harry, reluctantly, nodded. "Well, that's the problem. I'm also still annoyed. Now I'll _never _find out what he did to my scar. And I think what he did weakened him -- I hope it did, because if not, we're doomed. A few Death Eaters took out Dumbledore?"

"He _was _weakened, Harry -- considerably. However, even before that, his power was in decline, and yours in ascendancy. Whatever wisdom age may bring, there is something to be said for the vigor of youth." With a sigh, Severus rose and did up his trousers. "Come to my rooms. We have other matters to discuss."

  


They settled in Severus's parlor, with port and cigarettes, which was less special than it had been, but still pleasant. Harry stared at his hand for a moment, figuring that out.

"What are you thinking?"

Severus probably expected something either useful or sexy, and Harry nearly demurred. With an apologetic breath of laughter, he explained. "I've been smoking on my own, and perhaps I shouldn't do. It feels less ... less _indulgent_ now." He was pleased to have come up with a word.

"If you wish to reserve it for me, I would not mind." Severus gave him an evil leer. "If you can manage such self-deprivation."

Having it put in those terms, Harry thought, with a renewed surge of lust, made it far more likely he would try.

Severus leaned forward and opened a little drawer in the table by the couch, and drew forth a squat leather cylinder. For a moment, Harry hoped it was some sort of new toy, but then Severus laid it on his lap, undid the tie on one side, and uncoiled it into a long rectangle. It was a potion-holder, such as healers used for travel. The thick suede pockets, each designed to hold one vial, cushioned and protected the glass, as well as keeping the items in order.

"For you," he said, his fingers spread above the filled pockets. "Shadowcloak philtre -- six doses. Use no more than two frivolously."

"Thanks." Harry wondered where he would hide such a valuable oddity -- and one with obvious connections to recent poaching. "Maybe you should keep it here."

"Worried about your self-control?" Severus taunted. It seemed teasing, but when he looked up from re-rolling the kit, his face was grim. "I wasn't told about the Hogsmeade attack. I may have worn out my credibility as a devoted servant. We should not continue to keep everything under my control."

Harry bit his lip. That was "I may die," as clearly as if said in those three words. Of course, that had always been true -- from their first day together, he had been aware how true -- but now that Severus had given it the light of admission, he longed to protest.

"What do you propose?" he asked instead. He took another drag on his cigarette, to keep himself from saying more. It had burned down to the point of bitterness, and he perversely took another before stubbing it out.

"I have given your name to Gringotts as inheritor of my vault. If I die, they will send you a message, containing instructions for how to find my vault key, and a reckoning of any money I have promised to others."

"Okay." _Thank you _might be more appropriate, but if it happened, he would feel anything but thankful. "I'll follow your instructions, I promise."

"I know you will." Severus grabbed his wrists and pushed them overhead. "You always do. I think I'll give you some more immediate ones right now."

It was an effective change of subject, but only, Harry thought, because they both wanted it to be.

  


Given choices without complications, Harry would have stayed with Severus all day and gone to that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix with him -- and left with him, for all that. As it was, he left the dungeons only in time to get to dinner. Hermione did not push him about where he had been; she seemed to be trying to interfere less since their discussion on the steps outside the school.

Minerva McGonagall had opposed letting the students into the Order, but she had not succeeded Dumbledore as head of _that. _When she summoned Harry, Hermione, and Ron to her office after dinner, Harry was afraid that she was going to tell them that she would no longer allow them to attend meetings. Instead, she informed that she had discussed their status with Shacklebolt, and that they were to be allowed to continue to attend meetings, _with _her only, but would no longer participate in any active missions. She fixed Harry with a cat-like glare through her spectacles. "And that includes haring off to London with Professor Snape, Mr. Potter."

It took Harry a moment of sheer terror to realize that she was referring to the time in Bill's apartment.

"We'll leave school in four months, you know."

"Then in four months," she said firmly, "you will be free of my rules. Until then, you are not. Come along, now."

  


The meeting started by confirming Kingsley Shacklebolt as head of the Order. Annoyingly, that seemed to have been decided by several of the senior members in advance. Harry thought, perhaps unfairly, that he should have been consulted, and he could tell by the flashes of resentment on Severus's face that he had not been part of the elite cabal either.

_On the other hand, we're not being fair, are we? He'd be the first to say that this group should be run less democratically. But they shouldn't pretend._

"Minerva?" Shacklebolt said, cutting into Harry's reflections. "You had two issues to present?"

"Yes, of course." Professor McGonagall stood from her seat at Shacklebolt's right and faced them. Her eyes met Harry's for a moment, but watching her, he thought she might do that to everyone, or at least many of them.

"Fawkes," she said, "is the first issue. Normally, a magical familiar such as a phoenix would depart when its human counterpart died. However, Fawkes has remained."

"Could Dumbledore not be really dead?" Ron asked. "I mean--"

McGonagall's face tightened, but Harry thought it was more grief than annoyance.

"He _is _dead, Mr. Weasley. We must not fabricate false hope. There must be another reason for the behavior of Fawkes."

"Perhaps his new companion is nearby?" Arthur Weasley suggested, with an unconcealed glance at Harry. Harry wasn't going to let that linger in discussion.

"Maybe he's too associated with the Order to leave us while we're active," Harry countered. To his pleasure, he got a slight nod from Remus Lupin.

"I think Harry is on the right track. It wouldn't be anything so general, but a familiar can accept a task that lasts beyond the death of the wizard or witch. Most probably, Fawkes still has a specific job to accomplish before his service to Albus is complete and their bond dissolves." He shrugged. "I doubt that there is much to be gained from predicting what; we will know when it happens, and he is unlikely to be of any other use in the meantime. What is the second matter, Minerva?"

She cleared her throat. "As you may recall, Dumbledore was substantially weakened in the last few days of his life." She looked directly at Harry. "From some notes I found in his desk, I believe that this is due to something he tried to do to Harry Potter. Harry? Is there anything you can tell us?"

Harry scowled. "Not really. He touched my scar, and it hurt for a moment, but he wouldn't tell me what he did. He used his wand, which I've hardly ever seen, so he didn't try to deny he'd done _something, _but I didn't hear an incantation, and he wouldn't answer questions. He said he'd tell me later." The words sharpened his memory. "Before the next meeting of the Order, actually. Specifically."

"What did these notes say, Minerva?" Severus asked.

She cleared her throat. Obviously reciting, she answered, "The attempt at transmuting the link from H.P.'s scar has drained me more than I anticipated, and the effects are unclear. I must recover before the experiment of discussing the matter with him."

"Transmuting?" Lupin repeated, horrified.

"So now we don't know what the link does?" Harry asked, in much the same tone.

"Yes, that would appear to be the case."

"So maybe I shouldn't be here. What if he can see all of this?"

"Harry's right--" Bill began.

"Harry is _wrong," _Severus said tersely. "His Occlusion is better than that."

"But I'm not--"

"Well why in hell aren't you?" Severus snarled. "Do it! Now."

Harry was too alarmed to protest. He closed his eyes for a moment and centered himself in impermeable calm. Opening them, he looked at McGonagall and saw a moment's distress cross her face, and almost sighed. His Occlusion might be good, but it still left him with a lack of animation that people who knew him found disturbing. "I should be safe, now," he said deliberately. "If you find any information, though...."

"I will let you know," she agreed. "It seems clear that Albus intended to provide you with specifics when he was certain of them. In the meantime, however, I think any significant actions by the Order should be held back while I try to find information on his intent."

"That is no excuse to dawdle," Severus said sharply.

"If Albus had a plan--"

"_We _do not know it." Severus stood himself. "The Dark Lord grows ever more secretive. I was _not informed _of this attack on Hogsmeade, which was almost certainly intended to draw out defenders from the school." To Harry's surprise, Severus looked at him when he said that. "Even if he does not suspect my loyalties, he may demand I leave the school, now that there is no Albus Dumbledore for me to spy on. The time I can finesse is limited--"

"You may remain in the protection offered by Hogwarts, Severus, even if you must leave his inner circle, but it will not dictate our strategy."

_Shacklebolt shouldn't allow her to proclaim that_, Harry thought. _He's supposed to be in charge of our strategy. And does Severus think the attack was intended to draw _me _out? Of course, it nearly did, but that was by oddest coincidence. Surely Voldemort knows that I wouldn't be allowed to leave the school to fight?_

It occurred to him, for the first time, that perhaps Voldemort _did not _know that. He, surely, would use any tool at his disposal; that his allies might try to protect Harry until he could not only be useful, but be useful and possibly survive it, might not be something he understood.__

"We would be better moving now, whilst I can still provide intelligence. If we can get our best team, including Potter, into his--"

"No! I will not have _students _used in combat--"

"You have no choice! It is prophesied! He must--"

"Sit _DOWN, _Snape." At Shacklebolt's rebuke, Severus sat. Ron sniggered into his hand and Hermione hissed at him.

Harry let the exchange pass. If he said anything, he would say too much. Instead of looking at Severus, or any of the others, he glowered down at the worn surface of the table.

It didn't bother him that Severus thought he was ready enough, with planning. Severus seemed to be the only one who accounted for Voldemort's growing strength in his evaluation of the balance. The others looked to Harry for a miracle, but in the future, as if they were certain that another few months would make him invincible. That was much more frightening than the thought of joining an attack.

  


Somehow it felt like the world should stop with Dumbledore gone. The school should cease to function, Voldemort should attack, and the days should be dark and menacing. Instead, McGonagall assumed the role of headmistress and reminded them even more regularly to study, the news in the Daily Prophet remained about the same, and a rainy February gave way to a flowery March. The Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army both met more frequently than in the autumn, but after a few weeks, people forgot to be solemn all the time. Talk in the common room, though it still brushed past the matter of the war frequently, returned to lessons and examinations and Quidditch matches.

Ron persisted in trying to persuade Harry to get a flat with him after they left school. Harry would have found his insistence offensive if it hadn't been clear that Ron was worried about him. Even with that knowledge, it remained annoying.

"It's not like we need to share a room, mate," Ron was objecting as they walked into the Room of Requirement. "You need to be with _someone, _though. What if you were attacked?"

"I'm sure I'll have loads of competent people volunteering to put protections on my flat, wherever it is."

"Ron has a point, though," Hermione intervened. Before Harry could even glare, she pressed on. "We need some sort of alert system between your place and a few others, so--"

"So I can have an emergency response team apparate in every time I have a guest?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We can build in something so that _you _can let people through it..."

"Fine," Harry replied angrily._ "If _you can come up with something that works _and _will allow me a decent amount of privacy, I'll let you cast it. Now will you please both just shut up about it?"

He stormed off before they could reply. It was a little embarrassing, not to mention awkward, to suddenly be alone in a room with groups of talking people. He went over and joined Justin and Ernie, who seemed unlikely to try to protect him.

"Hi."

"Good evening, Harry," Ernie greeted him. "Problems with your usual cohort?"

Harry shrugged. "They seem to think I'm going to get myself killed as soon as I leave school."

Ernie cleared his throat. "Well, you do have a bit of a reputation...."

"How do you get a Gryffindor to drink pumpkin juice?" Justin said suddenly. Harry stared at him, bewildered.

"Er ... say 'want some nice pumpkin juice?'" he tried.

"Oh, you haven't heard these? You build a tall tower, leave a pitcher of pumpkin juice at the top of it, and then hire two Slytherins to encircle it with traps. How do you get Harry Potter to drink pumpkin juice?"

"Um, how?"

"Leave _two _pitchers and tell him one is poisoned."

  


**********

  


Severus should have been mourning Dumbledore and fearing potential death at the hands of the Dark Lord. He did both these things to some extent, but far more, he found himself worrying at the matter of his association -- certainly, it would be absurd to dignify it with the label of "relationship" -- his _association _with Harry.

Harry had displayed an interest in continuing their association after leaving school, and not entirely in the matter of business. That was something Severus had not previously dared to think possible. If it was, he should evaluate how to approach the matter. It would still be a temporary alliance -- Harry would think better of the arrangement sooner or later. If he planned, though, he might push the end towards _later. _

There were points against pursuing it, of course. Meeting Harry outside Hogwarts would be a risk, and smuggling him in yet more of one. If they met at 12 Grimmauld Place, the chance of discovery by one of the Dark Lord's servants would be reduced. Of course, an Order member might catch them there.... After a moment's reflection, Severus realized that he would be delighted to be caught _in flagrante delicto_ with Harry, provided the circumstances of that did not provide grounds for his dismissal, which after Harry left school, they need not. He pictured Lupin, horrified, watching them, and began slowly to touch himself through his robes. _No, not Lupin -- Harry would be distressed. One of the Weasleys -- Charlie? Or perhaps the girl, her pale eyes wide with shock...._

The picture pleased him. When his own panting breaths registered, he forced himself to move his hand back to the arm of his chair. Harry would be arriving soon; there was no gain to getting too far ahead of a younger man.

If he wished to keep Harry as long as possible -- and he thought perhaps he did, unwise or not -- he would need to keep him amused. Harry had commented on the play they made of Harry being his student -- perhaps he was growing tired of that? Even if not, perhaps it was time to experiment with other enhancements to sex, so that he would have tricks considered and ready when the time seemed to demand them.

He already did, he realized, have other tricks available. Harry seemed to enjoy an element of risk -- he liked places where they might be caught. The problem with that, of course, was that they eventually _would _be caught if they took such risks often, which was not appealing while the results were likely to be deadly.

Harry liked to be bound or otherwise restrained, he liked to be dominated, and he still enjoyed both in a limited display, such as before their prostitute. Severus found himself thinking about the failure of spanking him over the desk. It seemed unbelievable that Harry would actually be disinterested in a manageable level of pain, properly applied. Perhaps he had thought Severus was genuinely upset?

  


**********

  


When Harry arrived, the door opened at his knock. Severus however, was seated across the room in his armchair by the fire. Harry closed the door and set protections on it, then looked questioningly at his lover and host.

"I have something different in mind for this evening," Severus said evenly, "and I wished to discuss it with you. Come and sit down."

A bit uneasy, and unsure how biddable he was desired to be, Harry crossed the room and sat in the place nearest to Severus, which was at the end of the couch. "Yes?" he prompted.

"I wish you to answer honestly. I was ... thinking back on the time that I spanked you -- briefly."

"Ah." Harry wondered what he was supposed to say about it.

"It still seems ... _odd, _to me, that you would not enjoy mild pain, in the context of discipline, and I was wondering if that was your only experience with it?"

"Yes," Harry answered uneasily. "Well, as _sex--_"

Severus waved that away. "I would assume you have been _spanked, _Potter. From what I now know of your upbringing, it was hardly overly permissive. The point is that I believe that I approached that wrongly."

Harry would have sworn out loud if he wasn't reluctant to display naiveté. Severus probably had a point. It was a ridiculous thing to balk at, considering the things that he wanted. Severus must be finding it hard to exert control over him, with this artificial constraint.

"And?"

"I was thinking we might ... try again? But with you realizing that I wasn't actually-- that you were not in disgrace? It is-- can be-- an enhancement to sensual enjoyment, this _awakening _of all nerves."

That sounded intriguing. Harry wondered if he was missing something, after all. If he was careful not to think of Uncle Vernon, or Dudley and his gang, or Voldemort, perhaps he could feel what Severus meant.

"So you want to try...?"

"Yes. But a sharper sensation, I believe. Some people prefer that. And something without memories.... Have you ever been switched?"

"What?"

"Hit with a thin stick? Caned?"

"Um ... No."

"Very well." Severus sat back, looking terribly smug. "I'll use your wand on you."

"My WAND?" Harry was outraged. "You damn well will not! What if you BREAK it?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Harry! Even your arse isn't that firm."

"It's my WAND!"

"And therefore highly resistant to breakage."

"Ron broke his!"

Severus stared at him for a minute and then choked in one of his almost-laughs. "That was the _Whomping Willow. _Believe me, Harry; your wand will be in no danger of breakage from what I will do." He smirked. "Nor will your lovely arse.

"Now ..." His eyes settled implacably on Harry's. "Will you try?"

"Sure." Harry kept his voice and gaze steady. He could try it once -- once for real.

"What would make you most receptive to a new sensation? Would you like to be bound, or free?"

Harry had to consider that. Being bound didn't usually make him think of Voldemort, but if he was being hurt, it might. With Severus, though, restraints had come to feel peculiarly safe. "Bound," he decided finally. "But touching." _I need to know that it's you._

Severus nodded. "Take off your clothes, then." He stood up when Harry did, and moved to sit next to where Harry had been, in the center of the couch. "When you are ready, lie across my lap."

_Touching, _Harry realized with relief. Severus had understood that. That reassured him. He didn't try to make himself aroused, just undressed quietly. It wasn't until he took the necessary step towards Severus that he realized he had not looked up in all the time that he had been removing clothes.

Severus met his eyes with such intensity that Harry nearly expected him to start screaming.

"You are beautiful," he said instead, and held out his hand. "Your wand?"

Slowly, if not quite reluctantly, Harry passed the wand to him. "Beautiful?" he said wryly.

Severus studied him for a moment. "You are usually so forceful that it is not what shows, but just now, undressing for me? Yes. Come closer.

"Now. I am not going to pretend that I am displeased with you or disciplining you -- not even if you request it. This, today, is entirely for sensation, and if you tell me you want me to stop, I will stop, is that clear?"

Harry nodded, realized he was biting his lip, and set his jaw loose. "Yes, sir."

"Sir?" The reply was biting. Harry nearly laughed.

"Yes, Severus." He looked at the older man, taking in his sallow face, the lines of it tight with habitual tension. "My love."

Severus tensed more with that, but then let it out in a huff of air. "Good. Now lie down."

Lying across someone's lap was awkward. Severus had positioned himself so there was couch on both sides, but even so, Harry's head was lower than his bum, an oddity that he felt keenly as Severus magically bound his wrists and anchored then over the arm of the couch. His wariness flared at a new touch, but then he realized that it was just Severus stroking a hand across one cheek of his arse.

"Pretty boy," Severus breathed.

"God," Harry answered. He was aroused despite himself at the feel of Severus beneath him, hard under his austere robes.

Until his wand descended.

He could feel, somehow, that it was his wand, not just some stick. The power was there, taunting him, even as the blow left a sharp line of pain across his body. Not fighting back took all his concentration. Some part of his mind was busy telling him that he could twist, he could kick.... Possibly he could roll over the arm of the couch and pull it down backwards. He told his fighting instinct to shut it and worked at lying still as another line of contact burst along the first.

He couldn't tell Severus to stop -- wouldn't, not when he was so clearly enjoying this. He wouldn't be a baby about it. People _liked _this, he knew they did. If he could just relax and not think about enemies....

He held his lip shut tight with his teeth as the third blow descended, holding in any words of surrender. When he tasted blood, he tried to let up.

A fourth blow, and instinct took over. With a scream that was more rage than pain, he used the best weapon available to him. Red light erupted from the point of his wand as he twisted from both lap and couch, landing on his bum on the floor, arms held over his shoulders by his bonds. His impact with the floor was drown out by a screech and tumble of rock.

"No!" Severus was over him, his own wand out and pointed at a damaged section of the wall. For a moment, they both waited for an attacker who did not appear. Harry slowly noticed that the damage was regular -- a neat line like an arrow slit -- and that it started from this side and did not go through. He had done that. It probably matched the mark on his arse, but magnified in all ways.

Severus had apparently reached the same conclusion. "That's quite ... impressive." He slipped his wand back in his sleeve. "Did you miss the point that I would stop, if you asked?"

"I didn't want to."

Severus touched his bonds, dismissing them, and Harry bit his lip anxiously, remembering too late that it was already bleeding. He sucked the new blood into his mouth and wondered if he could salvage anything from this or if he should just leave and hope that Severus would be over it later in the week.

"You obviously weren't enjoying it," Severus snapped.

"So? You were."

Severus sunk back on the couch, covering his face with his hands. "I enjoy lots of things. You were supposed to _tell _me--"

"I thought I had better control than that, all right? I'm sorry! I'll fix your damn wall."

As Harry reached for his wand, Severus caught his wrist and pulled him down. "No! I'll fix the wall. Damn the wall, anyway! You're missing the point."

"Fine! I'm missing it! Are you going to throw me out or not?"

A very odd look crossed Severus's face, as if he were lost and alone, and then, quite suddenly, he was pressing Harry back with vicious speed. "Not," he snarled, the 't' so sharp that spittle hit Harry's cheek. "This time. But if you do this again -- this ridiculous refusal to inform me when you are unhappy when I have _told _you to tell me--"

"You didn't say I _had _to! You just said you'd stop if I did!"

Severus slapped him, hard, and then jerked back. Harry seized his wrist as it tried to withdraw, with the speed and focus he would use to take a snitch. Severus looked furious.

"You damned brat! You call me 'love' and prattle about summer, and you don't even think I care _that _much?"

"I don't mind!" Harry glanced at the wall, and his surety wavered. "In theory."

"If I want someone who _doesn't mind, _I'll get a whore."

Belatedly, Harry recalled what Severus had said the last time he had tried this -- about wanting Harry to want what he was doing -- and realized that he had actually offended him by going along. He released his wrist with a gentle touch.

"I ... I misunderstood. And I wanted to try -- to see if I _could _want it."

The wall drew Severus's eye, this time.

"I would say not."

"Apparently."

Severus sat back, more composed now, and snorted in amusement. "And you really can cast a spell with your arse. I would have thought it was just an expression."

A moment later, Harry was laughing hysterically, accompanied by choking gasps from Severus. They ended up with their arms around each other, mixing hiccoughs with kisses.


	3. Risk

In late April, people braved the still chilly air to walk in the sunshine, whenever there was sunshine. This particular afternoon was not only sunny, but warm enough to shed robes and roll up long sleeves. Everyone seemed to be just as cheerful as Harry. Malfoy called out a rude remark about a Hufflepuff girl's jiggling boobs, and she shot him a bright smile before running off giggling with her friends.

"How the hell does he do that?" Ron fumed.

"Huh?"

"Be ..." Ron waved his hands. "Like that. He's completely rude and ... and _presumptuous,_ and then he gets away with it. If I said that to a girl, she'd slap me!"

Harry laughed. Perhaps not everyone felt cheerful, after all. "Ah, you and I are expected to be decent." He glanced back at Draco. "Being drop-dead gorgeous and completely loaded probably helps, too."

It was about three steps later, when Ron was still silent, that he realized what he had said. When he looked back, though, Ron's face showed confusion rather than offense, and that evaporated even as Harry noted it.

"Suppose so."

They settled by the lake, books out, trying to look studious for when Hermione arrived. Their talk, though, was all about Quidditch.

"I think you should go professional," Ron encouraged. "Try out, at least. I'm sure you've been invited."

Harry shook his head. "I can't."

"Go on, Harry! You're better than Wilson. I'd love to have the Cannons take you on. You'd be on the first team in no time."

"Yeah? And how long do you think it would be before someone fired a Killing Curse at me from the stands?"

"Oh."

"Or threw me a rose that was really a portkey to Voldemort?"

"Okay, I get your point. After we get him--"

"There'll still be unconvicted Death Eaters who want to kill me -- if I had anything to do with it, anyway."

"I suppose." Ron threw himself down against the damp grass and linked his hands behind his head to stare moodily up at the sky. "You _are _loads better than Wilson, though, and he makes the covers of magazines."

Harry shrugged. He was fairly sure why Wilson made the covers of magazines, and it had nothing to do with his abilities as a Seeker. He began to actually read the page that he had been facing for the last ten minutes.

"Ginny says that's all looks though, and the team just hired him because he was popular. Reckon she's right?"

Harry snorted. "Maybe the coach likes blonds."

Ron coughed, and Harry regretted the comment. He really needed to be more careful. "I expect you'd be even more popular," Ron continued quickly, his voice strained. "But yeah, it would make you a target."

"What would make him a target?"

They both looked up -- both a little guiltily, Harry thought -- at the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Er -- Playing Quidditch professionally," Ron explained.

"Harry! You can't do that!"

"Obviously. I was just saying why."

"Oh. Well..." Hermione took a visible breath. "You really need to do something about a job, Harry."

If Ron had not been there, Harry might have said that he didn't, that he had more than enough money to get by. That didn't seem fair, though, or kind. "I, um, have something," he confessed.

"What? And you didn't tell us?"

"Harry! That's wonderful!"

"I ... I can't talk about it. I mean, I've wanted to tell you, but there's nothing I can really say."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Harry! That's marvelous news. I didn't think you would, after ... fifth year, you know, but you have unusually good intuition, and that's what they look for most, even more than research skills."

The last was said bravely, with a steady determination that told Harry that she had applied to the employer that she thought he meant, the Department of Mysteries.

"Aa, well ... they need both, I think. Don't know anything except about myself and my mentor, though -- and that's really all I can say."

With a little squeal, she hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Oh Harry! I feel so much better. I've been so worried about you!"

He didn't feel guilty at all.

  


A few nights later, though, when he left the common room, Ron came up right behind him, opening the door he had just shut. Harry turned in surprise from the task of switching books.

"Hi?"

"Want to show me that climbing charm?"

"Scaling charm?" Harry frowned, puzzled. "If you want."

"I want to talk. That will be private."

Harry left all his books, pocketed a pack of cigarettes -- just in case the roof was too linked to that-- and went to the window to show Ron the charm. A few minutes later, they were securely seated on the slick tiles.

"So..." Ron began, uncertainly.

"So?"

"So, you...." Ron twisted his fingers together. "You like blokes, don't you?"

"I...." Harry felt all the blood drain from his face. "Hell. Look--"

"It was Malfoy that got me thinking. But since then, I've been watching you -- who you look at, and what you say about them. So?"

Harry looked down. He knew what Ron meant about Malfoy, but he thought he had got away with the slip. "So," he said guiltily.

Ron stared at him for a moment. He looked angry, but he didn't push, or yell, or draw his wand.

"You could've just told me, you know."

"I...." Harry didn't know what to make of that. Wasn't Ron going to fight with him? "I wasn't sure." That wasn't actually true. He had been certain it would ruin the rest of the year.

"Why the hell not?"

"We're in the same room. I didn't -- didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"So you won't share a flat because you thought I'd _freak out?_"

"No! No, it's not that." It had been, in part, but he couldn't admit it, now that it was clear he'd been wrong.

"Why then?"

Harry tried to think what he could say. "Um, because you'd hate my taste?"

Ron groaned. "You really meant it about Malfoy."

"What?" Harry suddenly realized what Ron meant. "Well, no. He's not my type, actually."

"Too vile?"

"Too pretty." At Harry's pronouncement, Ron smirked, so he continued. "I mean, if I wanted a girl, I'd pick a girl, right?" That produced a promising snigger.

"Not girl enough for me, mate."

"I've always been pretty clear on that, yeah."

The air between them seemed to lighten. Ron leaned back, in an almost relaxed manner. "Does anyone know? Besides your mystery lover, that is?"

"Uh...." Harry ducked his head. "Well, Hermione--"

"What! You'd tell her and not me?"

"I didn't plan to. She caught me right after, you know, Dumbledore, when I was shaken, and I hinted, and she guessed." Harry shrugged. "Besides, she's a _girl, _you know. Girls are supposed to be all right with that, mostly."

"I suppose." Ron looked moodily up at the stars. "Harry?"

"Mm?"

"We all right, now? I mean, we're still best mates, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Harry said, a private thrill coursing through him, even as he kept his tone properly casual. "Best mates. Always."

  


"You shouldn't trust him."

Severus seemed less pleased with Ron and Harry clearing things up than Harry had been -- or maybe his disapproval was just a distraction, to weaken Harry's resistance to the spell that had him pinned up against the classroom wall.

"You said that before, and you were wrong." Giving up on pushing directly against the spell, Harry tried a lunge to the side. He found himself falling free of the pin, and managed to twist into a roll. Quickly, he countered with a vision-distorting hex. "And he's asking fewer questions."

"For now," Snape sneered, casting on himself now, and apparently improving his perception. "Weasleys are inquisitive, the lot of them. Even--"

A knock at the door caused them both to freeze. "Professor Snape?"

They looked at each other in shared surprise. "Hermione?"

"She can't hear us."

That was true, and in any case, they hadn't been saying anything incriminating, or doing anything they shouldn't be --yet.

"Harry? Professor Snape?"

With matching nods, they stood down, giving each other a dueler's salute to show that the contest was over. Harry wiped his face while Severus opened the door.

"I trust you have a good reason for this interruption, Miss Granger."

Severus didn't sound like he trusted that at all, and Hermione bit her lip. Harry caught her quick glance past Severus to him. She must have found his appearance acceptable, because her shoulders settled down slightly as she nodded.

"Professor McGonagall sent me. There's a meeting. You're both to come to her office now."

  


Harry had hoped they would receive more information in the office of the Headmistress, but she just waved them towards the Floo. Indeed, when they arrived at the meeting, everyone else was already gathered. Harry found himself sitting next to Ron, who had saved places for him and Hermione. With a contemptuous flare and tightening of his nostrils, Severus took the only other available seat, at the end of the table, next to Mundungus.

McGonagall immediately stood.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I have found more notes on what Dumbledore did -- or planned to do -- to Mr. Potter's bond. Between the notes themselves, and the spell on the page they were marking, I am fairly certain of his intent, if not the actual results."

Harry straightened in his seat. He was anxious to hear what she had found, but also a little bit put out at being told with everyone else. It was _his _scar. Couldn't she have warned him?"

"As I believe all of us know, Harry's scar serves to anchor a connection to You-Know-Who. This connection appears to exist regardless of the will of either party. For the past few years, Dumbledore's approach to this problem has been to attempt to provide Harry with the means to shut down perception across that link.

"What he chose to do recently was a radical departure from that path."

Harry stiffened. Hermione, beside him, squeezed his leg in a manner that he expected was supposed to be comforting.

"Rather than impeding the bond, Dumbledore altered it to be more physical. If his casting was successful, then any damage You-Know-Who does to Harry will rebound on himself."

Nearly everyone came bolt upright at that. Mundungus started guiltily; Harry suspected that he'd missed the revelation and was no trying to look like he knew what was being discussed. Harry wished he were as disconnected from it.

"So can we kill him just by offing me?" he asked. _Just _didn't really belong in that sentence, he thought queasily, but there it was. He had always wanted to live, but not to buy his life so dearly.

With an angry hiss, Severus straightened another inch. "Cretin." There was nothing of Harry's lover to him now. "Ignorant little fool! It doesn't work like that. If I killed you, what good would it do? I can't kill him!"

"But if the spell--"

"To turn his own acts against him! The Dark Lord's protections against death are protections against other agents. This spell seeks to subvert that by causing him to kill _himself. _It is a common twist in this class of Dark Arts."

"I say!" Arthur objected. "Watch what you're calling Dark Arts! Albus Dumbledore came up with this."

Severus sneered condescendingly. "Unlike some lesser associates, Dumbledore derived his dislike of Dark Arts from a stance of knowledge, not ignorance. He knew what he was doing -- or more often, what he _didn't _do. He _also _knew when an exception was worth the return."

"Severus," McGonagall warned. Severus turned on her.

"This is a variation on _Ultio_, is it not? In the _ultricis_ class at least?"

She looked uncomfortable. "According to the notes, yes, but--"

"Then," he said smugly, "Dark Arts." He eyed Harry in a manner more predatory than if Harry was strung up in chains. "Behold our sacrifice -- our _willing _sacrifice."

"That is _quite _enough!"

Stunned, Harry sat back, his mind reeling through fantastical visions of Voldemort killing them both, and let the others bicker. McGonagall was still unsure if he would die or not. His gut told him that he would. That the Order decided to wait until she had researched further meant nothing.

  


"Professor Snape!"

Severus whirled, visibly angry. Harry suspected it was mostly at his indiscretion, but he didn't have time for that now.

"I need to discuss something with you."

Contempt quivered through Severus's stance as he looked away. "It will wait until Tuesday, then. Do you think I wish to spend more time in the presence of your mind-boggling ignorance?"

"Please. This is important."

McGonagall's voice obstructed any response from Severus. "That is quite enough. Come along, Mr. Potter."

  


Later that night, Harry tried again to see Severus, but there was no answer to his knocks. He took a second dose of the potion and slipped away.

  


**********

  


Severus ignored the raps on his door during the night and did not attend breakfast the next day. Clearly the boy wanted to go get himself heroically killed, and wanted his help finding Voldemort to do it, and if Granger managed to find the _ultricis _hexes, she would realize that he had exaggerated the extent to which Voldemort would need to be the attacker. If he avoided Harry for a few days, Harry would be more capable of reasoned planning.

He was startled to arrive at his morning Potions class -- Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff third-years -- and find Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger waiting just inside the door. Both looked pale, and Granger's eyes were red with crying. Nonetheless, she stepped forward, holding out a sealed letter.

"What --"

"Harry left, sir. We found a note on his bed saying he'd gone to kill Voldemort, and that we should bring this to you--"

Severus snatched the note from her, catching at a table to hide a sudden dizziness as blood drained from his head.

"The little fool!" He tore the parchment around the seal in his rush and scanned the contents, hoping they would tell him enough to mount a rescue. There was little of that.
    
    
    Severus,
    
    I've left to go find Voldemort and goad him into killing me.  
    I expect you knew that I would. Since you won't bring me,  
    I'll go to Malfoy elder -- I expect he'll be pleased to offer  
    me up as tribute.
    
    Best wishes in everything,
    
    Harry

"Gryffindor!" Severus swore. At least the missive didn't proclaim love, requiring him to hide it. He shoved it at Granger.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall--"

"We've told her! She says we can't do anything--"

Severus pivoted against the protest and headed for the door, only belated remembering the students.

"Lessons are cancelled," he spat over his shoulder. "Ten inches on compulsion potions, due tomorrow." From there, he practically flew down the corridor. He would start at Voldemort's stronghold, and if it wasn't buzzing with the news of Potter's capture, he could backtrack to Malfoy Manor. If Harry was still alive, there might be hope. He had -- both of them had -- the Shadowcloak philtre, and an intimate knowledge of each other.

  


When Severus arrived unsummoned at the Dark Lord's current residence, it was usually silent. Today, it buzzed with activity. As soon as he slipped inside the wards, Severus could hear distant voices, many of them, spilling out the windows. Either Malfoy had called friends, or the Dark Lord had summoned many of his servants, excluding Severus. He let himself through the doors. No guard greeted him, so he concentrated on fading out of sight, and then, hidden by the Shadowcloak philtre, stepped into the antechamber of the main hall. Through the door, he could see a sizeable gathering -- he counted nineteen of the Dark Lord's servants and Voldemort himself. Among them all was Harry, naked and in chains, on his knees on the dusty floor. As best Severus could tell, he looked more irritated than distraught; the Dark Lord, perhaps, was being uncooperative about trying to kill him. Macnair was looming over him, but had no weapon out. He was also not holding a wand -- either his own, or Harry's.

As Severus did not see a second wand in Voldemort's hand, nor in that of Lucius Malfoy, who stood at the Dark Lord's side, he set out into the hall. The lighting the Dark Lord favored was dramatic, not evenly effective, and there was plenty of shadow at the edge of the room which he could use to walk behind the crowd. He trod softly, searching for the familiar length of holly. Finally, just behind the Dark Lord's throne, his survey dropped from the ledge of the wainscoting and he saw it, left carelessly on the floor, perhaps after a dramatic disarming. Moving more cautiously now, he crept to the wand. No one heard him; no one was looking. To his benefit, Nagini was elsewhere. Severus closed his fingers around the thin length of wood and lifted it from the floor. After slipping it into his sleeve beside his own, he began a slow and quiet return to the antechamber.

"You tell me that you have _no idea _why a cut on you should hurt me?"

The hissing voice was behind him, but still close. Severus glanced back, but all he could see of the Dark Lord was his shoulder, and a crescent of his white face. He kept moving.

"None sir," Harry replied, as blandly as if he were dressed, seated, and discussing the matter philosophically over tea. That was one thing their dalliance had given Harry, Severus thought with satisfaction. He was now quite capable of being quietly polite in the most outrageous of circumstances.

"As you can see, I no longer carry anything that may be of protective benefit," Harry elaborated. He held his arms apart, cheekily displaying his naked body. It was curious to see him do that while not at all aroused. Drops of blood flew from one of his hands as he extended them. At a motion from the Voldemort, Severus looked back again, but the Dark Lord had only stood. Severus had gained enough distance to have a better angle, and it did not escape his notice that Voldemort had the same hand -- his right -- pressed tight to his thigh.

"Then perhaps I need to cut something out of you!"

Harry smiled. "Go right ahead."

Macnair slapped him hard across the face, and Voldemort jerked back.

_"Crucio!" _

Under the cover of Macnair's screams, Severus could move more quickly. He hurried back out of the hall, sidestepped away from the door, and knelt down, setting the wand on the floor in front of him. Next, he drew his belt knife and set that beside it, so the two items were parallel, but pointing in different directions. Transfiguring a wand was a dangerous business. Sometimes, the magic was broken with the change, and more often it was broken with the change back. Severus had known one student who had spent two years doing charms with a wooden spoon rather than risking the latter.

Now, though, he had little choice. He doubted Voldemort would let him approach Harry with a wand -- any wand -- considering that he had not trusted him enough to invite him to this little party. _I do not believe it was consideration for my schedule -- not with Dumbledore gone._ There was no shadowed approach to Harry's current position, which was meant to be seen, and even if there had been, Harry seemed likely to resist rescue. Holding his own wand inches above the pair of tools on the floor, Severus worked on exchanging their form, until Harry's wand was a perfect replica of his own knife, and his knife one of the wand. Sheathing the false knife, he kicked the false wand to the side, and dropped his concealment. A moment later, he was walking into the hall and through the assembled Death Eaters to the Dark Lord's throne.

Voldemort stared at him, his red eyes unblinking.

"Severus. How unlike you to come unannounced."

Severus knelt before the Dark Lord and lowered his forehead almost to the oak planks of the floor. This obscured his face, but looking to the side through the veil of his hair, he could just see Harry.

"I have urgent news, my lord. The blood traitor McGonagall has given me information on a scheme that Dumbledore spawned. You must not kill Potter."

"_Must _not?"

Threat trembled in his master's voice, but Severus kept his even.

"To kill him, Master, would be to kill yourself. Dumbledore used an _Ultio _curse."

Harry scowled at him. Severus missed the Dark Lord standing until the toe of a boot parted the cover of his hair. Long fingers dug into the strands in back and pulled his head up. "Ultio?" Voldemort's eyes were burning slits.

"To make your bond a two edged sword. What hurts him will rebound on you."

"I am aware of _that, _you cretin! Did you just hide in the shadows and use what you saw?" Voldemort held up his wand hand, shoving it towards Severus's face. It did not bleed as Harry's bled, but the flesh there was angry with pain.

"I have a solution," Severus told him quickly. "McGonagall consulted with me only last night, but I had intimations earlier that Dumbledore would bind the boy's death to yours. I have been working on the problem for months, my lord. Say the word, and I will kill him for you -- safely."

"Will you, Snape? And why should _you _be so skilled when you claim that I am not?"

Severus rose to his heels. "It is not a matter of skill, Master," he said clearly, so the people near them -- hopefully including Harry -- would hear. "I have trained him. Only a willing death will leave you unharmed. I can make him willing."

"To die?"

"Yes."

"How will you do that, my servant?"

Severus permitted himself a slight smirk. "The boy has a most malleable sensuality, Master. I have coaxed him to increasingly severe damage. Let me fuck him for you -- he is a beautiful sight, I assure you -- and I will bring him to willingness."

The nervous laughter of disbelief emerged in quick-caught bursts around him, but Voldemort looked viciously pleased.

"And why should I trust you?"

"Have you any option? Cut him and you will feel each slice. Starve him and you will weaken. Let me but show you--"

"I DO NOT TRUST YOU!" Voldemort drew his head up as the echoes died away. "So oily, Severus. Such a neat explanation to go near a prisoner that you freely admit is your lover."

"He is nothing of the sort!" Severus snapped, and then visibly collected himself. "A toy, my lord. I scarcely touch him when he is not bound."

Voldemort evaluated him, the push of his mind strong. Severus thought of Harry holding on to the edge of a workbench, Harry chained to his bed, naked and screaming for his release, his wrists pulled tight against his bonds. The Dark Lord smiled dangerously.

"You may not have your wand."

It took no contrivance to hate that idea. Giving up his wand was a terrifying prospect. "Yes, my lord."

Slitted nostrils flared. "I don't trust you to not have potions, either -- you hide things so cleverly. No clothes, Severus. You don't need them for _fucking."_

Severus took a deep breath. "If you must, my lord. My knife is all I need -- for the end." He drew the blade, familiar to them all by sight, and set his wand on the ground at Voldemort's feet.

"That, I permit."

At a downward slash of Voldemort's wand, Severus's clothes fell in pieces to the ground. His abruptly exposed skin was not cold enough to freeze his prick back down from half-mast, where the memories of Harry in submission had raised it. Naked, he prostrated himself again, ignoring the catcalls from his peers.

"Enough. To your task, Severus."

As Voldemort sank back down on his throne, it floated to the center of the table to provide him an unobstructed view. Trying not to show his nervousness, Severus rose and walked numbly toward the prisoner, his prick bobbing, and the assembled Death Eaters followed, pressing close, calling taunting questions about how good a fuck the boy was, some aimed at him and some at Harry. Severus pretended to ignore them.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry eyed him with a frightening harshness, but his voice rang out clear.

"Hello, sir. What -- Do you want--" He bit his lip. After a visible breath, he straightened his back, sitting up on his heels. "Sorry. How may I please you, sir?"

Sniggers and whoops filled the air as their audience pressed closer. Severus brandished his knife, tilting it in the light for a moment before bringing it down to stroke the flat of it along Harry's skin. Harry twitched in surprise. Snape hoped that the response was that the boy could recognize his own wand, not just fear of the blade. When the bright steel parted the dark curls at the boy's groin, Voldemort ordered the Death Eaters to fall back. He had an unobstructed view as Severus stroked after the blade with his free hand, and Harry's prick swelled beneath his touch.

"Little slag!" Macnair exclaimed. "Let _me _at--"

He flew back at a wave from Voldemort, and at another such wave, Harry's chains fell open. Severus, satisfied, straddled Harry's lap and bent forward to bite and pull at one of his nipples. He wondered if Voldemort knew that neither sensations not intended as aggression nor those not done for his benefit would rebound on him. If not, a few things that looked painful might bolster his credibility and give him more space.

"He's right, you know," he told Harry clearly, projecting his voice for his audience. "You must love this -- all these men watching you, seeing you ready to go."

Harry met his eyes. Something fierce was in his own as he grew truly hard beneath Severus. Their cocks rubbed together as both of them shifted. There was power here -- to whom it would ultimately belong was unclear, but it hung heavy in the air like the smoke of green leaves. Severus knew he could make the attack now, and bolstered by _Ultio _it might work, but laws of power ruled that the curse would fly outward best at the moment of climax. They could use every edge they could get, and if building energy between them would help, who was he to demur?

"Yes, sir." Harry feigned nervousness, or perhaps merely let it show. He let Severus push him down on his back and unfolded his legs with a quick hiss. "Please...."

"Harry," Severus breathed, the name a promise. He made his voice louder. "Remember how good it was, when I caned you with your wand?"

"Oh God!" Harry's eyes widened, but he arched and panted.

"Remember?"

"Yeah. Yes. Sir."

"This will be even better." Snape leaned intimately close, but kept his voice loud enough for his audience. He stroked the knife down Harry's cheek to his neck. "When you come, I'm going to kill you."

Harry looked wildly ecstatic. "Oh yes! Oh, please, sir." His wild hair twisted about the edges of his face as his tossed his head. "Oh god."

Snape smiled. Harry had definitely gotten the message. The Dark Lord's pleasure came out in a wordless hiss.

"Back more!" he ordered. "Give Severus room for his display."

A low muddle of sound, most of it wordless, was coming from the assembled Death Eaters as they reluctantly stepped back. Severus wondered if Macnair was fondling himself yet. He hoped so. A man with his hands down his trousers was a man who couldn't move fast.

Severus shifted further down than necessary to work his legs between Harry's, slid his hands under Harry's bum cheeks, and lifted them for display. "Shall I show everyone your hole?" he asked rhetorically, pressing his thumbnails together and pushing them into Harry. "Show them how quickly you're ready for me? I _will _miss you."

Harry got his feet under him and pressed up, enhancing the display. He really was ready very quickly, these days, and now he managed a trick he had been working on recently -- his own wandless lubrication spell. Severus would have praised him if they had been alone. As it was, a quick entry would give the impression that he was hurting Harry more than he would be, and that was useful. When he pushed home it was almost slick enough, and a drop of liquid welled from the tip of Harry's prick as his neck arched back and he cried out.

"God, sir. You're perfect. Need it....."

Severus set up a steady rhythm, working Harry closer to his peak, but not too close. After a particularly loud cry from Harry, he paused, pinching and pulling his nipples and watching him arch under the sensations. The muttering of the circle around them turned to raucous calls of disgust and excitement.

"Aquarium," Severus whispered. At Harry's look, startled even through his half-artificial arousal, he realized that it sounded like a safeword, which, in a way, it was. With the tip of his tongue, he dug gently into a tooth that had fallen open at the command, loosening the capsule there and shifting it to one side. This would need to be exactly timed. Harry was still staring up at him.

"I love you."

Severus nearly bit down on his salvation too soon. Hastily, he tongued it into the pocket between gum and cheek. Harry gave him an apologetic smile.

"Just thought I should say, since--."

The boy stopped the words and rocked his hips, pushing himself deeper on Severus, reminding him that they had been still for too long. The Dark Lord had left his throne and come down to the edge of the circle of Death Eaters.

"Please, sir." Harry's voice was louder now, and desperate. "Want you. Want it _hard._"

Belatedly, Severus slammed into him. "I know how you like it," he snarled. "Never had enough, have you, brat? You will today." The Dark Lord was starting to circle them, the attractive force that was Harry pulling him closer every few steps._ Like a wolf circling its prey, _Severus thought.

_But no. Like a moth circling a flame. He can't resist. He never could._

Severus wrapped his long fingers around Harry's cock and pulled in counterpart to his thrusts. It was clumsy, but more than enough.Despite, or perhaps because of, the setting, they were both wildly excited. _Gryffindor, _Severus thought with sudden clarity. _Not attention or obedience, but danger. _

Remembering the knife, he stroked the point of it down Harry's chest, and Harry arched into it in a muddle of defiance and will and lust. Nearby, Voldemort laughed.

"How sweet, Severus. I have underestimated your subtlety." He was standing, now, watching enrapt, not Severus's swollen cock drawing out and slamming in, but Harry's arched neck and ecstatic face.

"So close," Harry moaned.

"End it," Voldemort commanded.

Severus smiled. The direct command would strengthen the effects of the _Ultio _curse. He slipped the knife into place, so it was almost above Harry's heart. Not exactly; Harry needed time to send out his damage, even if neither of them was to survive this. Carefully, he angled the hilt -- the tip of the wand in the true form of the thing -- to point at the Dark Lord. One more thrust and stroke of his hand, and Harry was coming.

Severus hadn't counted on that bringing him over as well. In the delirium of orgasm, he stabbed as best he could, and Harry screamed, sending out a jet of red like dragon's fire from the dagger's hilt -- _wand's point_ \-- and the Dark Lord _shrieked_.

Elated, Severus bent his head to kiss Harry's scream. He bit down and pushed his flooded tongue into his lover's open mouth, even as the shriek gurgled into death and other voices took over in panic and rage.

The noise stopped.

  


As the familiar pull of a portkey twisted at his stomach, Severus's elation crashed to terror. While it was good to escape nineteen Death Eaters who had just seen him deliver a probably fatal wound to their master, it would be a scant improvement to show up in Minerva McGonagall's office with his cock up Harry Potter's arse and a knife in Harry Potter's chest, and both of them covered in blood and come. Even if the room was empty, his use of his last escape should bring Poppy Pomfrey within moments.

_And I've never been any good at explaining myself,_ he thought bitterly, as the still-garish room materialized around him. _The boy had better live._

A high-pitched shriek brought his head up sharply. By Minerva's desk, a house elf was standing, a duster in one hand. Its wide eyes had bulged to nearly globes, and its ears stood straight up as it let out a despairing wail. Before Severus could move, the creature vanished with a loud crack. As if linked to the motion, Harry's body twitched, pushing out Severus's softening cock, and he looked down and got his first sight of the damage. All thought of transfiguring some clothing while he waited vanished in the blood frothing from Harry's chest, worsened by his labored, sucking breaths. His own hand was still clutching the hilt of the knife as if petrified there. It was just as well, he realized. He couldn't let go, or the knife would tilt and do more damage, and if he pulled it out instead, the bleeding would worsen. He was stuck here, in this compromising position, naked, and he could hardly care.

_"Harry."_

Harry did his Gryffindor best to speak, but couldn't stop the spasmodic drawing at the air long enough to give voice. "Pomfrey's coming," Severus told him, although he could see it would be too late. He remembered Harry's declaration of love and wanted to return it, to have these last moments mean _something_, but then Harry would surely know he was dying. Any normal person would be in tears, Severus thought distractedly, but his would never come. He couldn't even let his eyes squeeze shut -- he owed Harry at least that much: to meet his eyes until the end, even if sight was fading out of them.

He had the nonsensical thought that musical accompaniment was overly pathetic. His life was not an opera. The fancy faded as a clean drop cut through the blood on his hand, and he looked down. Beneath hand and knife, he could see Harry's chest rise and fall, each cycle steadier than the last. The entry point of the blade shimmered with golden liquid -- tears, he realized finally, that cascaded down from a singing phoenix.

"Out." Harry rested after the effort of that single word, but his eyes were aware, now. "Pull."

Dumbly, obediently, Severus drew forth the knife, watching skin close as its path cleared.

_"Severus Snape!"_

_Now _his eyes closed, if only for a split second. The music faltered. "Minerva." Quickly, he dropped the knife, yanked a shawl from the chair by the fire and covered himself and Harry as best he could. The metallic scent of blood didn't quite cover the fuller musk of ejaculation -- or other odors. He supposed it was too much to hope that the old battleaxe was a virgin?

Apparently.

"Pray explain this _debauchery,_" she said coldly.

Severus looked desperately to Harry, but now that the boy was not in agony, exhaustion had overcome him. "Harry left to--"

_"Harry,"_ she repeated. She, also, looked long and hard at the boy, but he was visibly breathing and she remained standing. _Can't she smell the blood? _

"To try to kill Voldemort! To DIE! And his friends told me. And when I got there, he had been captured."

"Which, of course, necessitated that you take carnal advantage--"

"The Dark Lord had realized that killing him would cause his own death!" Severus took a breath in the respite this granted him. "So I transfigured his wand--" He undid the transfiguration on the knife, but even without testing, he could tell the wand was lifeless after the second change. The most magical thing about it was the blood that coated the hilt "We killed him. I think." McGonagall looked confused. "The D-- Voldemort."

"You killed Voldemort," she constructed, obviously confused.

He gave up on obscuring his part in this. "Harry dislikes pain during sex. His reactions are quite dramatic. If he can put a hole in my wall, why not in--"

She jerked back, her long neck arching like that of an angry swan. _"Severus Snape. _You will leave this school _immediately._"

He glanced down at his patchy cover. "Naked?" he asked blandly.

His spirits were starting to rise. Harry was of age, so she could do little more than fire and evict him. And blacken his reputation, of course, but that would hardly be a change. He could tell by the fading ache in his left forearm that his old master was truly dead, or at least vanquished once more, so departure was no longer death. A strange freedom beckoned from the world, and Severus, long slave, was eager to know it. It would hurt to leave Harry, but Harry would survive; he had friends enough to tend to him.

With a cat's hiss of disgust, Minerva seized a carpet from before the fire, tossed it into the air, and caught it as robes of an atrocious pale pink. "Dress," she commanded, handing them to him.

Poppy burst into the room.

"Severus!"

"Harry was injured," he told her, as he pulled the horrible robes over his head. He could change the color once he was alone, and he had gold enough in Gringotts to own something less scratchy by noon. "Fawkes healed his wound, but he could still use attention."

"And you?" she asked in surprise.

"I'm fine." It was, astoundingly true. He looked over to Minerva, who had taken a step towards Harry. "I'll contact you about retrieving my things."

Her chin elevated another inch. "Send me an address, and I will forward them. I will _not _have you back in this school, even accompanied. I am appalled, Severus." She looked between him and Harry, whom Poppy was examining with a frown. The healer had pushed down the shawl to bare his upper body and was cleaning away the spilled blood with a conjured sponge. "Poppy -- is young Potter safe? I need to escort our former Potions master from the school."

"He's lost quite a lot of blood, but I don't think he's in immediate danger." She looked up. "Severus?" He could see that she wanted to ask what he had done to offend McGonagall, but wouldn't take the time from her patient. "Do you know what happened?"

"I stabbed him in the chest," he said blandly. "Through a lung, I believe."

Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a silent "O". Hurriedly, she returned to looking at Harry, this time casting charms on his chest. "Sev'rus," he murmured, and settled into a more natural sleep.

Severus was pulled from fond contemplation by an iron grip closing on his arm. Minerva kept her nails short, but they were long enough to dig into flesh when she really tried.

"Now."

It was enough. He was aware, as he hurried out that door for the last time, of Fawkes behind him, singing once more as he ascended through the ceiling.


	4. Epilogue

Everything hurt. Everything hurt, except for his chest, which was perfect. Harry opened his eyes. Hermione and Ron were there, looking at each other and holding hands, but with their grips too tight.

"Did it work?" he asked.

"Harry!" Hermione's exclamation was followed by a choked laugh. Ron rubbed across his eyes.

"You're absolutely right, mate. About saying I'd hate your taste, I mean."

Harry shook the sleep from his head and inched up in the bed. "But did it work? Did we kill him?"

Hermione's disapproval blossomed into a smile. "Voldemort? Yes. But Harry -- there have been the wildest rumors! How did you _do _it?"

Harry couldn't quite make sense of his memories, yet. "Severus stabbed me with my wand, I think? While I was -- well, he was buggering me. And he knows I don't like to be hurt -- deliberately. So the--"

"Enough!" Ron squeaked.

"Ron--"

"I don't care, Hermione. I don't want to hear it!"

"Don't want to share space with me then, do you?" Harry goaded.

"What, y'do stuff like that?"

"Not nearly so hardcore, but collars and handcuffs and such -- yeah, we do."

"Harry!" Hermione protested.

"What? He's twisted, and no more so than I want."

"Well, it's got him bloody fired," Ron interjected angrily.

"What?"

"Oh really, Harry, you can't be surprised!"

"We _killed Voldemort!"_

"He was having an _affair _with a _student!"_

Harry rested back. "Ah. Yeah, well. Not like he'd mind leaving." Without meaning to, he laughed. "God. I can tell you everything now." Ron's shudder just made the thought funnier.

  


**********

  


The weeks stretched by. Severus avoided his former comrades -- on both sides -- read the _Daily Prophet_ masthead to crossword, and tried to tell himself that he didn't expect Harry to ever contact him, and didn't care if he did or not. With ill-contained relish, he read the interview Harry gave to the _Quibbler_, in which Harry referred to him as "my lover," and credited him with being clever enough to use Harry's reactions to magnify the effects of Dumbledore's magic, and subtle enough to communicate his intent.

The details, of course, had already emerged by then. Although Severus ignored the disgusted -- or sometimes admiring -- looks he received from strangers, he had been irritated by how people snickered at Harry's interview. He had accepted a request for an interview himself, this one for the _Wand_, and had emphasized that the power that killed Voldemort was all Harry's own, however he had finessed it. He was not, therefore, someone it was wise to treat disrespectfully.

"Unless he likes it?" the interviewer had asked cheekily, and Snape allowed that if you could make him like it -- with the understanding that it required a good deal of _understood _respect -- then you could do almost anything.

Still, four weeks later, on the first Hogsmeade weekend since, he wasn't sure why he was in the Hogshead. Harry would not come here. Harry would spend the weekend with his friends, in some more wholesome celebration. Still, he sat here, and drank slowly, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons in the pub.

  


"Hi!" Harry sat across from him, interrupting his search for a nine-letter word that meant _going up_. "I'd hoped you'd be here. Have you been all right?"

"I am a free agent for the first time since my teens, and I have no imbecilic, ungovernable children to endure. I cannot recall being better."

"Ah." Harry looked a bit taken aback. "Well, I've missed you, actually."

The boy hadn't thought he was referring to him, surely? Severus nodded slightly. "And I you. That makes me no less glad to be quit of the rest of it."

Harry's smile brightened. "Oh, good." He looked around the dirty, shadowed room as if noticing it for the first time, and then made a face. "Not where I want to spend the day."

"Is upstairs far enough away?" Snape leered at him. The rooms here would do; they'd stripped off in worse places. "Or did you have another place in mind?"

"Mm, yeah." Harry smirked at him as he got to his feet. He pulled out a wand -- birch, Severus thought -- and transfigured his black school robes into a denim jacket that matched the jeans he'd had hidden underneath. "London."

"You can't go to London!"

"Course I can. I'm a wizard."

"You are a _student. _When you go to Hogsmeade, you're supposed to stay in Hogsmeade."

"Not in your rented room, I'm not."

"Nonetheless, you could get in significant trouble."

"Has that ever stopped me?" Harry leaned back against a neighboring table. "Besides, what can they do now? I've just finished my N.E.W.T.s! Take me to London, Severus. Muggle London."

"Are you going to hold out for diamonds, as well?"

"I was hoping for leather and brass."

"Oh, you have quite enough brass already." For all that, the reference had reassured him. Harry wasn't trying to put him off, after all, just to add some fun. Snape stood up. With a moment's concentration and a sweep of his wand, he shortened his robe to something more like a tailored frock coat -- outrageous, but possible. "Soho then?"

Harry straightened from the table. "Yeah."

Severus evaluated him, eyes raking possessively over what he could see of Harry. It would be far more before they returned, if he had any say in the matter. "Be prepared to prove you're eighteen. I intend to take you places that will require it."

With a deceptively demure lowering of his eyes, Harry stepped close. "Yes, sir."

The unrestrained laugh that Severus let out lingered in the dingy pub long after the crack of their departure.


End file.
